“People want toknow where all these creatures come from, Cyrus,” she said, searching his squareface and pointed ears, “They want to understand how you returned to us so- so different.”
“I’ve already toldthem more than they can handle,” Cyrus said, “but know this, Fibian and Edward havesacrificed much to deliver us this hune.”
Sarah pursed her lips,still unsure.
“How are the fieldscoming?” Cyrus asked, changing the subject.
“There are others whoknow far more about soil and orchards than myself,” Sarah replied. “Shouldn’tone of them be in charge?”
“Let the farmersfarm,” Cyrus replied, “I trust you to lead. Make their jobs easier. Organizetheir schedules, listen to their advice, solve their labor and supply problems.”
Sarah still lookeduncertain.
“Are you sure it wasa good idea putting Hoblkalf and your stepmother in charge of village planning?”she asked. “They’re always gossiping and spreading rumors about you three.”
Cyrus looked offinto the woods to where he had last seen Llysa.
“Just the ramblingsof bitter has-beens,” he said. “The work will keep them busy and out of trouble.”
But if by chance theydid attempt mutiny or some other treachery, Cyrus thought, who could blame him fortheir banishment or death? A subtle smile creased his dry lips. Fibian stared grimlyat the big alve.
“Be careful, youngMaster,” the froskman said. “When you roll the Witch’s dice, you pay the Witch’sprice.”
Cyrus glared backat Fibian, equally as grave.
Chapter23
BEASTS AND DEMONS
FOR SEVERAL DRIZZLING days the Battle Hune sailed souththrough steely, white-capped seas. Many of the alvelings on the wall began to spythe strange perimeter islands that had secretly imprisoned their homeland for solong. They witnessed creatures prowling the wooded shorelines and heard devilishcries echoing across the waters. Their doubts and fears grew.
Slowly but surely thenewly-constructed rain harvesters began to replenish the island’s dwindling waterreserves. Artillerymen started to gather scrap metal and improvise makeshiftmunitions to bolster their exhausted stockpile. Cannon and rifle reports continuedto ring out across the island as the alvelings practiced firing procedures. A handfulof bridge officers taught several villagers the Battle Hune’s communication systems.The alves began with simple greetings relayed back and forth between the two fortresses,then advanced to more complicated battle orders and firing coordinates.
Cyrus grew satisfiedwith how his plans were proceeding, until one rainy afternoon, as he huddledunder a leaky grey tarp in the middle of the forest. The mayor sat in his son’sarms before a makeshift desk, and went over designs for his newly-proposedvillage. Cyrus noticed that the old man and his son wore more of those strange stringsof roasted dunklewood nuts around their necks.
Llysa assisted Hoblkalf,handling the several charts and maps strewn across the table. Sarah representedthe farmers and questioned land distribution and zoning regulations.
Cyrus grew bored withthe discussion and began to watch a mixed detail of alves and klops clear nearbyforest. The klops chopped, burned and dug out the stubborn tree roots. The alvesstood about laughing and smoking grumpweed pipes.
“Who’s in chargeover there?” Cyrus shouted.
He abandoned themeeting and marched out into the rain. A large, red-faced farmer stepped forward.Rainwater poured off of the wide brim of his oilskin hat.
“I am, young LongBones,”the older farmer said, defiantly.
Cyrus noticedseveral strings of dunklewood nuts around the man’s neck and ankles. The farmergripped a heavy ax in his two thick hands.
“Do you enjoy beingout in the rain, Landman?” Cyrus asked, letting his anger show.
Farmer Landman lookedback at his four alve companions and gave them a knowing grin. All wore similardunklewood nut charms.
“I remember a timewhen you was about yay big,” the farmer said, holding his hand up to his chest.“You came running through town, crying like a wee baby cause your mama had spankedya for being a useless bastard. So cute you was. That was about a year ago, I reckon.”
Landman’s four cohortschuckled. The laboring klops froze.
Cyrus considered beatingthe old man’s red face purple, but Sarah was there. Yet if he let the insubordinationstand…
“I asked, do youenjoy being out in the rain?” Cyrus repeated. “Do you enjoy starving? Do you enjoyfreezing at night?”
“Is that a threat,StrangeBones?” Landman asked.
“Do you enjoy yourchildren being out in the rain, cold and hungry?” Cyrus continued, squaring upto the old fool.
He stood toe totoe with Landman. At his full height, farmer Landman barely reached Cyrus’ shoulder.Cyrus glared straight into the old man’s grey eyes. Landman wavered. Cyrus lookedscornfully at the ax in his shaking hands.
“Because that’s what’sgoing to continue if you don't get to work,” Cyrus growled. “This land will growour food, and its lumber will build our homes, but only if you work it!”
“We’re happy towork,” Landman shouted, his fear and anger pouring over, “but not alongsidethem!”
Hate and rage quiveredin the old farmer’s limbs as he pointed at the klops.
“Not alongside beastsand demons! No matter what you do, we won’t work with those abominations.”
The klops’ bulbouseyes grew fierce, and their slit nostrils flared. Cyrus grabbed Landman by hissodden jacket and ripped the ax from his grip.
“Then you can digtheir dung holes,” he shouted, spit flying from his lips.
He threw the oldman to the muddy earth.
“Same as the rest ofyou,” he hollered at the other four.
Two of the farmers,the Tiller twins, mumbled curses as they glared sideways at Cyrus.
“Ain’t how you treatyour own kind,” bow-legged Mr. Aker murmured.
Then he and theskinny farmer, Landwirt, helped Landman up off of the ground.
Cyrus watched withfrustration and rage as the five alves retreated bitterly down the muddy path. Didthey not understand what he was trying to do? Did they not realize what was at stake?
He turned towards Sarahand Hoblkalf, crowded under the canvas canopy beside Llysa and Lars. The fouralves stood frozen with apprehension. Cyrus sighed heavily. He threw the ax to theearth.
“Back to work,” heordered the four klops.
After a moment’shesitation, Hoblkalf ordered his son forward.
“May I give you aword of advice, from one mayor to another?” Hoblkalf asked, sat in his son’sarms.
“No!” Cyrus barked.
Both father and sonswallowed hard. Fibian and Knavish emerged from the woods.
“Master Cyrus, thetown
